The Visit
by Wonkaverse
Summary: Wonka's factory has been back in business for ten years, his gates always locked. What happens when he receives a vist from government officials? He gives them a TOUR, of course! Rated T because you shuldn't read this to kids as a bedtime story.


**_Disclaimer:_** We no own Wonka stuff!

**Author's Note(s): **I'm working on my poetry skills, so please comment on the Oompa-Loompas' songs at least.

Oompa-loompa 1: We hope you enjoy it!

Oompa-loompa 2: At least as much as we did!

Both: _Hehehehe_

* * *

The Visit

_London, England_

A black and white car pulled up to the roadside, its pistons squealing awfully as it came to a halt, the noise amplified in the chilled, early spring air. The driver and two passengers disembarked from within the transport, three pairs of loafered feet alighting on the cold, cobblestone pavement and car doors slamming shut with a thud. One of the men looked to the other two, his attire neat and professional, a black pinstripe suit accentuating his trim figure, providing a stark contrast to the pale yellow of the envelope he carried. His two companions, though not as spiffily dressed as he, looked respectable as well: tan pants and pressed white shirts, the look rounded off with the application of the shiny badges issued them by Scotland Yard, pinned to the exterior of their dark overcoats. Indeed, the whole party looked formidable, but the intent for which they had come to this destination was anything but. The man carrying the manila envelope glanced to the other two, his eyes nervous. "No one has seen him for years," he said lowly, picking up on some conversation that had begun in the vehicle. "We don't even know if he's there anymore."

One of the others, a policeman, gave the man a reassuring smile. "Mr. Bryant, don't worry; we'll get this whole thing sorted out. Someone's bound to be there, if not the ol' man hisself. After all, the company is pumping out so many goods, probably more than it ever has.

The second policeman nodded, his eyes ominous. "The profit he makes must be enormous, considering the sheer number of stores that carry his products. And to top it off with tax evasion…"

Bryant nodded uncomfortably. "Yes, yes. That's why I've been sent, to get this sorted out. I don't think it's Mr. Wonka's fault that he missed the payments… after all, such can be overlooked after a period of bankruptcy. But he seems to have gotten better, and so he needs to be informed… the amount he has missed out on paying is…" he peeked into the folder, "…nine hundred thousand pounds."

The policemen exchanged a surprised glance. "Well, let's get this over with, then, before the number rises any higher, and we have to take him in for sure. It would sure be a shame, because I like his candies."

_Wonka's factory, Security Room_

The room was illuminated by the light of several monitors, flickering with feed from external security cameras that were strategically placed around the perimeter of the factory. The screens were watched by two men, Oompa-loompas, who noted the activity in Grid Sector O-02 and N-03. They exchanged a concerned look. "What do you think is going on?"

The other shrugged. "Beats me. But from the looks of the two men with the badges, it might be important."

"Think we should tell Mr. Wonka?"

"Of course." The Oompa-loompa reached over the console and pressed a button, the control linking him directly to Wonka's office. "Mr. Wonka?"

"Yes, what? This had better be bloody important."

"I think it may be, sir. We have company…"

Bryant reached out his hand to knock on the massive gate. It was the most logical thing he could think of doing after finding no intercom button or guard booth. Before he could lay a hand on the cast iron, however, the door somehow began to open on its own, unseen hands pulling it back, the panel creaking mightily on hinges that had not been used for ages. The sudden movement surprised Bryant so much, that he leapt back, startled; but after a moment he regained his composure and stepped inside, flanked by the two policemen. The escorts themselves looked amazed too, after glancing about and seeing no cameras or workers in sight. After a moment's worth of observing what awaited them, the three stepped forward, each man feeling slightly unnerved when the gates swung shut behind them, closing with a dull, metallic clang. For a minute, they hesitated at the edge of the enclosed space, thinking for the briefest of instances that it might be a trap… until a booming voice, seeming to come from nowhere, split the frigid air. "COME FORWARD!"

Without a reason to argue, the three walked deeper into the enclosure, Bryant now trembling, his escorts cool and determined. The clicking of their shoes on the cobblestone walkway filled the silence that had been left in the wake of the loud voice, and for a moment it seemed quiet… too quiet. The contingent reached the end of the path, now facing a pair of huge metal doors, which, like the gates, swung open automatically at their approach. This time, however, a man appeared from within, dressed in the strangest combination of clothing the visitors had ever seen. He wore brown loafers, tan pants, a plum-velvet coat, a top hat, and a most brilliant smile. He extended a hand to the three. "Good morning, sirs. How can I help you today?"

Bryant forced his anxiety down and clasped the other's hand in his own, forcing a grin. "Hello, sir. I'm John Bryant, with the IRS." He flashed his identification.

The other continued to smile, as if he were overjoyed to have made a new acquaintance, indifferent to the man's occupation. "William Wonka. It's a great pleasure, Mr. Bryant. And who are these two gentlemen?" He gestured to the men behind.

They both fumbled for their own identification. "Detective Inspector Hugh Fitz."

"Officer Walter Beck."

Wonka shook their hands as well, vigorously pumping their arms as if he were simply brimming with energy. "Wonderful, wonderful." His voice suddenly became serious, though his face was still all smiles. "Now, friends, what business brings you come to the gates of my humble establishment?"

Bryant absently tugged at his collar. "We apologize for the intrusion, Mr. Wonka; I would have called to schedule a proper meeting, but the telephone number in the directory seems to be nonfunctional."

"Telephone?" Wonka echoed, but Bryant didn't hear it.

Instead, he continued. "There are some important matters of the government that I have been sent to take up with you, concerning your tax evasion."

Willy's eyes narrowed. "I see. Therefore the presence of the authorities, I suppose."

"Yes, well…"

"If it's a meeting you want, come inside. I can spare a few moments to settle things with you."

He stepped aside, allowing the three to enter the building, then he closed the door.

Inside, the building was exceedingly warm, and the three were force to shed their coats. They looked apologetically to Wonka, who smiled in understanding. "Just throw your coats anywhere; you can pick them up later on the way out."

The three guests complied, then followed Wonka a little ways down the corridor, to where a number of plush chairs were arranged atop a luxurious rug in the middle of the broad passageway.

"Have a seat, gentlemen, and we can begin our talk."

Bryant noted the furniture with an upraised brow. "Here? Don't you have an office or something? A proper place to hold a meeting?"

Willy smiled in amusement. "Of course I do! But this place is as good as any other, no? Besides, I personally think that these chairs are more comfortable than the ones in my office."

Detective Inspector Fitz tipped his head in question. "Why are they here, then? Shouldn't your office be more comfortable than the, uh… walkway?"

"Nonsense!" Willy answered, laughing. "I couldn't fathom such a thing! When it comes to my business, gentlemen, I spare nothing! I can't stand unsightliness, especially in the common places of my facility. That's why I take great care to decorate the place, or make it decent, at least. Notice this hall, for example. It is spacious, wide, and furnished in the most fashionable way."

Bryant glanced to the ceiling, then to the floor, noting the dark red carpet and periwinkle walls, and stifled a sniff of amusement. "I beg to differ; Mr. Wonka… this form of ornamentation has been out of style for…"

"So what?" Willy said, his tone dismissive. "I really don't have the time to redecorate, anyway. Too much business and work and all…"

"Which brings us to the point of my coming here, Mr. Wonka." Bryant stated, hesitantly lowering himself into one of the plum-velvet chairs behind him. Wonka and the two policemen did the same. Wonka stared attentively at Bryant as Bryant began his delivery. The man opened the dossier in his hand, glancing over the first page. "We have records of your business, copies of all the forms and contracts you signed several years ago when your company began. You agreed to all the terms and conditions listed in the documents, one of which mentioned internal revenue." He flipped a page, reading the summary it contained. "Basically, you agreed to pay the government a percentage of your profits in order to continue your business."

"That is absolutely preposterous," Willy muttered, "but I do remember signing the agreement, and even following the contract for a while. So why have you come now?"

Bryant closed the file, turning to gaze directly at Wonka. "Because it seems that you have defaulted on your payments, ever since your factory closed. But now it is open again, and it looks like you are successful now, even more so perhaps, and can afford to make payment on your dues. The government just sent me to make sure you remember your contract, and respect it."

"I see," Willy said, chin in hand as he mused aloud. "And I suppose that, if I refused… not that I'm saying I will… and continued to default on my payments, you would arrest me, an old candymaker, and close my business for good?"

Bryant cleared his throat. "If it came to that, sir. I'm afraid that age doesn't exclude you from the rules, or put you above the law."

"True," Willy said, nodding. "Which is why I will pay my dues; I certainly have no problem with that, monetary or behavior-wise." He said this while rising from his seat. "I have no qualms or quarrels concerning this settlement, but I do have one request."

Bryant stood as well, pausing to smooth down the wrinkles on his pants. "Fine, fine; so long as it is within legal guidelines, of course."

"Of course," Willy repeated, his eyes sparkling. "My only request, dear friends, is that you allow me the honor of showing you the reason for my seclusion, the purpose for which I live and breathe, who I am and why I shy away from the world of men. Come with me, and I will show you a world of pure imagination, the world in which I live, the one of my creation; my factory."

Bryant shared an uncomfortable glance with the two policemen, hesitant to take the candymaker up on the offer, but he nodded. "That sounds fine, Mr. Wonka, as long as I get back in time to file the report."

Wonka smiled pleasantly. "Certainly, certainly my fine sir… I am confident my little tour will take almost no time at all. Now, if you will follow me." The candymaker turned, walking deeper into the hall, the company following him closely. They walked along at a steady pace until the pathway ended, the way barred by a huge, steel door.

"This door," Wonka said while motioning to the smooth metal panel, "is all that separates my factory from the world, a dream from reality… a sheet of metal no thicker than four inches in thickness." He smiled fondly as he pulled a long key from within his coat, and proceeded to unlock the door. "From this point on, gentlemen, I strongly urge you to observe, but be careful. Everything you see will be considered private; can't go having you blab my secrets to everyone, now, and besides that, what you see may be dangerous to the inexperienced handler. Therefore, I warn you: do not touch, taste, or evoke anything without permission, and for your own safety, please stay close. Odd things have been known to happen here."

Bryant swallowed. "Things such as…"

"Just things," Willy said vaguely, waving a hand glibly. "Things always happen, whether you want them to or not. Now, come along; we can't waste precious time with needless chatter!"

He put a hand to the door and pushed, the thing swinging inward, permitting a course of release for a barrage of smells, scents, and sounds that assailed the members of the group. The noise was not loud, but permeated the very air, a distant rumble that sounded like the purring of a very large cat, or an engine of some sort, or maybe a hidden piece of machinery that was chugging away unceasingly. The smells were a mixture of the loveliest and mystifying aromas known to man- crisp, icy wintergreen and tropical orchid and spicy cinnamon and tangy orange and other scents too wonderful or muddled to describe. And, underlying this torrent of exotic odors, was the dominant smell of rich, melted chocolate, so strong and powerful, one could almost taste it in his mouth. Officer Beck smiled dumbly in awe. "Wow… smell that, would you? What is that?"

"This place is the main atrium of my plant, the normal access point for the common rooms of my factory," Willy explained. This is where I make the stuff you see on shelves everywhere: taffies and sugar powders and tarts and mints and things of that sort. See these doors?" He pointed to the wall nearest him, where a pink door stood, a sign on it reading COTTON PLANTATION. "Each door leads to a different room where I make a different candy, the source of all the smells in here."

"What the heck is in there?" Officer Fitz asked, having read the sign with some perplexity. Wonka flashed him a knowing grin. "Precisely what it says, dear sir. Would you like to see/"

He steered the group to the door, opening it with a key similar to the one he had used before, this one smaller. Opening the door, he revealed a space about as large as a closet, and shoved the three in ahead of him, they protesting with startled exclamations. "What are you doing, Mr. Wonka? There's nothing in here!"

"We'll be squashed like sardines!"

"Let me out!"

Wonka calmly answered them by closing the door, and speaking soothingly. "Hush, hush my dear sirs, else you might have a conniption before the real fun begins! We wouldn't want that, now would we? Now, stand still for a moment and savor the darkness."

Fitz and Beck complied, but Bryant, far from being calm, began to sweat nervously. After the passing of a minute, nothing seemed to have changed, except perhaps Bryant's rate of breathing, and the level of discomfort in the tiny room. Bryant finally couldn't take it any longer. "Mr. Wonka, I want out!"

"Alright!" Wonka huffed, his tone one of exasperation, but betraying the hint of a smile. "Come along."

He opened the door, and much to the puzzlement of the guests, led them out into an enormous chamber. High, blue ceilings stretched upward, creating the visual effect of a midsummer day, and on the ground, sprawling fields composed of dark soil and rows of short, fluffy bushes reached into the distance. Wonka turned to the three. "So, what do you think? Is it not amazing?"

Bryant, Fitz, and Beck said nothing. They couldn't, so great was their amazement. After a minute of quiet observance, Officer Fitz finally spoke, voicing his confusion. "So what is all this, exactly? What are these bushes? What is this place?"

"This," Wonka said spreading his arms to encompass the entirety of the chamber, "Is a plantation. See that building over there? That's the rest house, for my workers…"

"Where are the workers?" Beck asked curiously, but Wonka hushed him with a hand.

"Please, don't interrupt. Now, this soil is composed of the finest ground cocoa, and these lines of plants are cotton… candy cotton to be exact."

Bryant looked incredulous. "Mr. Wonka, you must be joking…"

"Do I look like I'm joking? Go ahead, try some of it. Just pull some right off the bush and eat it! I guarantee- it'll taste delicious!"

Spurred by their host's enthusiasm, and slightly unnerved, the three men tentatively reached down and pulled bits of the fluff from the bushes, hesitating before putting it into their mouths. Fitz was the first to respond, his eyes glimmering in wonderment. "This is incredible! So sugary and soft!"

The others nodded in agreement, too embarrassed to voice their own surprise to voice their opinions. Beck, however, suddenly broke the silence, his eyes directed to something out in the field. "What is that?" He pointed, and three pairs of eyes followed… until everyone caught a glimpse of what he had seen- tiny men, no taller than the cotton candy bushes, walking amidst the plants, inspecting them. Wonka smiled. "They're my workers. Oompa-loompas."

"Oompa-what?"

Willy sighed… sometimes he got tired of explaining the same thing, even if it was to different people."Oompa-loompas, imported directly from Loompa-land."

"Where the heck is that?"

"Somewhere in Africa," Willy replied, his mind turning to past thoughts. "Deep in the jungle, a place infested with the most terrible beasts known to man. The place is so wild; there are no maps of it, perhaps because all the mapmakers and explorers got eaten. But that is beside the point. The thing that matters is that the Oompa-loompas came here to work for me, and they get paid well and seem to have a jolly time with it. They are such excellent workers, though they have been known to play silly tricks."

Bryant opened his mouth to ask a question, but he was interrupted by a loud sucking sound, not unlike the noise of a vacuum cleaner, but amplified many times over.

"WHAT'S THAT NOISE?" Beck asked, eyes darting about to look for the source of the terrible noise. Wonka didn't answer, except to glance toward the ceiling, where a huge snake-like mechanism came into view, stretching toward the ground until it touched down on the field like the funnel of a tornado, the thing sucking up swaths of purple and pink and blue fluff, stripping the rows of cotton bushes of their sugary cotton. It was then that Bryant realized that the Oompa-loompas were nowhere in sight, and that Beck was no longer standing with the group. "BECK!?" he called out suddenly, though his voice was drowned out by the noise of the hose, which had drawn closer to their side of the field. "BECK, YOU ASS, WHERE…"

His eyes suddenly caught sight of a human form, standing stupidly in the middle of the field, looking dumbly at the approaching danger. Bryant looked to Wonka, who was watching the debacle unfolding, but did nothing to intervene. "MR. WONKA, WE NEED TO HELP HIM!"

"We can't." Wonka said firmly, his voice quiet, but Bryant heard them since he was standing so close. The two words sent a chill trickling down Bryant's spine, and he watched helplessly as the seemingly frozen Beck was caught up in a whirl of wind and swirling candy-cotton, and disappeared inside the huge hose. Fitz watched too, mouth agape in disbelief. "He was… and it just came and took him… and now he's going to be made into candy somewhere…"

Though his disbelieving stammering was somewhat muted by the sound of the sucking hose, Wonka heard him, and turned, a determined look on his face. "He most certainly will not," he said resolutely, now audible because the vacuum had finished its sweep of the field, and retracted back into the ceiling.

"And why not?" Fitz asked angrily, wondering what was going to happen to his unfortunate partner.

"Because it would taste horrible!" Wonka retorted, making a face. "No one would buy it, unless I somehow market it in a cannibalistic country, give it a catchy name, bright packaging perhaps… hmmm."

"I can't believe you're actually talking about this!" Fitz wailed. "We've got to find him! He might be in the tube, somewhere we can still get him…"

"Oh, calm yourself, man… you're giving me a headache. Besides, it looks like my workers would like to cheer you up with a little song." As Wonka said this, the two remaining guests looked up to see dozens of Oompa-loompas standing in the field, quite visible now that the cotton-bushes were naked of fluff. The little men began to hum and sway, bursting forth into choir-like song.

_Walter Beck, the unfortunate cop_

_Was mixed up with our cotton crop_

_What tragedy that even we_

_Would not have thought of nor foreseen_

_We thought that maybe he would see_

_The coming of catastrophe_

_Approaching danger coming near_

_And would have run away in fear_

_So sadly now we see the right_

_Not everyone on Earth is bright_

_For instead of running from the threat_

_Walter was whisked up by it_

_But all this could have been prevented_

_Had the idiot relented_

_From being curious and bold_

_And just do as he had been told_

_To stay behind with the master_

_But now his ending will come faster_

_For even now as we speak_

_Walter's lungs are growing weak_

_His last breath having abated_

_Mr. Beck is suffocated_

_Because he did not obey_

_With his life, the man must pay._

"That was rather sad," Wonka said reflectively as he herded Bryant and Fitz to the door, which they were now able to see, was in fact the entrance to a lift. Now that there were only three people in the little elevator, and the two guests were subdued by their companion's demise, the ride back up was quiet, except for the hum of the elevator and a fretful muttering from Wonka. "I do hope the harvest wasn't contaminated… could an intact body do that? If it did, I suppose I could package the lot and mark the bags as 'cadaver flavored', and sell it to some place like Tula, or Tonga, or wherever there's headhunters and people like that, and it should be all right."

The two with him listened in bewilderment, but said nothing. After a few moments, the lift stopped, and Wonka opened the door as he had before, leading the other two out, back into the main hall.

"Come along, come along; there are some key places I would like you to see."

"Are they as dangerous as the, uh… Cotton Plantation?" Fitz asked, eyes dark with sullen sorrow for his lost friend. Wonka shook his head. "They shouldn't be, provided you listen to what I tell you. Mr. Beck should have stayed with us, like I had said."  
"He didn't know," Fitz replied defensively. "He didn't see the hose, and he didn't hear me calling. But you should've done something! You should've turned it off, or told your workers to get him out of there, or…"

"Compose yourself, Mr. Fitz, just calm down. Accidents happen all the time, and are easily remedied. I'm sure your friend is fine."

"But the Oompa-loompas…"

"Pay them no mind. They think everything's a big joke! Now, if you will follow me into this room here…" Wonka unlocked a door, white this time, marked in big black letters: DAIRY COWS. Bryant wrinkled his nose in disgust. "You keep animals in your factory?"

"Well, of course. Where else would I get my milk?" Wonka pushed the door inward, stepping into the chamber with Bryant and Fitz close behind. The two men had been expecting a wave of stench to greet them, manure and sweat and hay and other smells commonly associated with farms and the furry denizens thereof, but there was none. What they saw, though, made them look twice. The entire chamber was white, the floors and ceilings and walls, and the floorspace was divided into large pens by an arrangement of fences, in which lay and stood a variety of cows, white ones and brown ones and reddish-pink ones, lazily turning to stare at the newcomers with large, languid eyes. One let out a soft moo, and Wonka broke into a smile. "Meet my pretty cows. They give the best milk in the country, chocolate and strawberry and…"

"Mr. Wonka," Bryant interrupted, "Shouldn't these animals be allowed to roam in a field somewhere? And what about their, um… excreta?"

Wonka looked him in the eye. "I don't see any, do you?"

"No, but…"

"And they _do_ get to roam, Mr. Bryant. Thrice a day. But milking time is soon, so they've been herded back inside until the field is replenished and they've been milked."

Fitz looked confused. "What field? Where?"

"The pasture, through those doors over there," Wonka said while pointing vaguely behind himself. "Acres of pasture, planted with the most nutritious, sweetest sugar grass, to make the cows' milk is sweet and creamy."

"You said they make chocolate milk," Fitz continued. "How's that possible?"

"A simple tweak of genetics," Willy replied simply, "the same process used to make their digestive systems efficient enough to allow them to absorb everything they ingest, thereby eliminating, in answer to your earlier question, the need for them to pass wastes. Besides, it's much better that way; the cows sure seem happier, and the milk is delicious. The white cows make white milk, the brown cows make chocolate milk, and the pink cows make strawberry milk. It's all common sense, really."

Bryant looked unsure, but he knew enough not to question the other's logic. "If you say so, Mr. Wonka."

"I do. Now, moving right along, let's go to the next room, right through this door." Wonka walked to the side of the chamber, exiting through a stainless steel door, Bryant and Fitz trailing after him.

The room they entered, like the first, was large and white and sterile, but was filled with the sound of clucking and cackling and squawking and crowing, the pens inhabited by hundreds and hundreds of feathery figures. "Chickens?!" Fitz exclaimed in bewilderment.

"Yes, chickens. Two hundred forty-nine of them, to be exact."

Bryant made a face. "What do you use them for?"

"Well, what everyone uses them for. Eggs."

"Eggs?!"

"Certainly. And these are no ordinary chickens, mind you. Though they do sometimes lay normal eggs, which I use to make omelets for my breakfast more often than not; most of what they produce are the richest, most chocolatey eggs imaginable."

"And I guess they were made by a simple 'tweak of genetics' as well?" Fitz asked with sarcasm, but Willy beamed. "You catch on quickly, man! Now that you finally seem to get it, and you've seen some of the ordinary stuff, I'd like you to show you something that is more of an experiment than anything else." Wonka led the two out, trotting back into the main hall. They crossed the atrium, coming to stand before a blue door marked AQUARIUM.

"Now, the last room was relatively childproof, no danger there. But this room is still under construction, as it is reasonably new. This door is the entrance to the observatory level, and there are no safety bars in place yet, so I'd like for you to be especially cautious in here."

The three entered the chamber, a space that was massive like all the others. This time, however, the group found themselves standing on a catwalk, a metal walkway suspended some thirty feet above the ground. They could see large vats ten feet below, filled with translucent liquid, and the tiny shapes of Oompa-loompas rushing about in the floorspace between them. Fitz whistled, impressed. "Amazing. What is all that down there? Liquid candy? Toxic chemicals?"

"Water. Sugar water."

Bryant threw Wonka a questioning glance. "What for?"

"For the aquarium, of course. Those vats are massive, because they are the living space for living creatures."

"Sea creatures?

"Sugar-based sea creatures. Edible sea creatures. Things like jellyfish and peanut-butterfish and cranberry crabs and stuff like that."

Fitz's brow was furrowed in confusion. "Whatever for? And why would they need to be put in the vats if they're just some kind of candy?"

"Because they're alive, just like my cows and chickens. I made them through experimentation, trying to develop a candy that children could eat underwater, but I made something living instead. So I decided not to sell them, and to keep them here in my factory, safe from the world in which they were certain to be gobbled up. Besides, they are animate. They are alive and deserve a suitable place to live. The ocean would never do, because they would shrivel up and probably get eaten by whales or something like that. And lakes and rivers wouldn't suffice either, because they would dissolve like sugar in water. So they live here in the aquarium, the Sugar/Water balance maintained by a group of specially trained Oompa-loompas."

"How… interesting, Mr. Wonka," Bryant said, his tone disbelieving. "You must be a very clever man."

"Thank you, Mr. Bryant," Wonka replied, voice hardening, "but do not patronize me. I understand your disbelief, but if you just look down, you might be able to see the creatures swimming about." He bent a little to look over the side, the two beside him doing the same. "They might be near the surface, since it's almost feeding time… oh, look! There's one!" Wonka jumped up in excitement, his hat almost flying off the top of his head.

"I don't see anything," Bryant said scornfully. Fitz, however, couldn't really make anything out from his angle. "I think I see, I saw something moving down there." he leaned over a little more, then a little more, until… he lost his balance and fell from the catwalk, yelling in terror as before landing headfirst into the tank below, sending up a blast of water in a large splash. Bryant looked to Wonka, his face a mask of horror. "We got to get him out of there, Mr. Wonka! We need to get him out before one of those things gets him!"

Wonka flashed him a grim smile. "I thought you said you didn't see anything, Mr. Bryant; that you said it was impossible for anything to be down there."

"But…"

"Besides, it looks like our friend knows how to swim, the way his head keeps bobbing up to the surface for air. I'm sure he'll be fine until one of the Oompa-loompas can get him out."

The Loompas, on the other hand, seemed to have a different idea, as they started to laugh and clap, beginning to sing another dirge, as Fitz struggled at the surface, unable to scream as he was caught by the leg and pulled underwater.

_Inspector Fitz, by Joe, by gum_

_Fell into the Aquarium!_

_And now will get the chance to see_

_The creatures of the mighty sea_

_Butter-fish and vanilla whales_

_Puffer fish with grapey scales_

_Jelly eels and jam eels as well_

_Anemones with tangerine gel_

_Lemon sharks with yellow fins_

_Lime sharks and their toothy grins_

_Seahorses made of peanut brittle_

_A crème-puff crab and its creamy middle_

_But long before he meets his end,_

_Mr. Fitz will soon befriend _

_All these beasts and many more_

_As he nears the aquarium floor_

_And when his foot touches the ground_

_Right before he starts to drown,_

_He will have the misfortune to find_

_These candy-fish are not too kind._

Bryant's eyes grew wide as he looked to the dancing Oompa-loompas, incredulous at the words he was hearing them say, that they weren't helping the fallen Fitz. That was when he looked into the top of the bubbling tank and realized... the Inspector was no longer there. "HUGH!" His eyes scanned the water's surface, searching desperately for any sign of his ill-fated companion, when he noticed a patch of foam, tinged red. His face drained of color. "Fitz…"

Wonka stepped over to Bryant, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Now, now, Mr. Bryant… it wasn't your fault he fell in. He should have known better than to lean over like that, especially after seeing there are no guard rails up yet."

Bryant's eyes narrowed and he shoved Wonka's hand away, his anxiety and sadness quickly transforming into rage. "Don't touch me!" He backed away from the candymaker, his eyes flaming with anger. "What kind of business do you think you're running here, anyway? What are you, some kind of murderer?"

"Mr. Bryant…"

"No!" the other shook his head heatedly, his voice a hiss of resentment. "You didn't save Officer Beck, you didn't even move to help him, or even try; and you didn't lift a finger to assist Inspector Fitz… so why should I trust you? They might yet be alive and will come out in the wash, or their ends may have been real but accidental; but I don't think I can believe you, not after watching you see them get taken away with such calmness, and your workers singing about their departures with such glee. If I didn't know any better, I might say you were trying to get rid of us!"

Willy's eyes darkened. "It is curious that you should say that, Mr. Bryant, because in truth, I really do want to get rid of you. The tour was an excuse, really, to distract you and eliminate you without a struggle." He chuckled. "And it was most enjoyable to see you trying to figure out what was going on, fighting your instincts as you tried to make sense of what was happening. Of course, since there were only three of you, the realization came a lot sooner… and it turns out your instincts were right. Both I and my workers enjoyed seeing your friends off, and in reality, we _did_ stage the events that took them away, although we weren't sure which of them was to be taken first. And yes, their ends are permanent; you, nor anyone else, will ever see them again."

Bryant's face reddened with fury. "But you said Beck would be fine, after he had been sucked up…"

"I lied," Wonka said plainly, shrugging. "However, I can promise you, fine John Bryant, that you will be able to leave my factory and return to your occupation of choice. You alone will be able to return to the ordinary world, with its taxes and depravity and political issues, normalcy in its finest."

"What's the catch?" Bryant inquired, his voice a reluctant growl.

"Oh, you'll see." Wonka replied, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He clicked his fingers, and four Oompa-loompas, short and sturdy, appeared from behind, coming to stand before their leader. Willy looked down to them, flashing them a deliberate smile. "Take Mr. Bryant, have him strapped down and ready for me. I would like to fetch something from the lab that I've been meaning to test."

The Loompas nodded, matching his brilliant smile with their own. They seized the mortified Bryant by the pant legs and pulled him along, while Wonka walked in the opposite direction, the Oompa-loompas left in the chamber pausing to look up in curiosity before breaking out in another song.

_Mr. Bryant can finally see_

_The reason for our songs and glee_

_That we oft dance and celebrate_

_To see the ugly hand of Fate_

_Borne down upon those who tread_

_Within this place and end up dead_

_Because they crossed our master's will_

_By conning him, or sent a bill_

_Many times it seems that man_

_Tries to do all that he can_

_To cause pain for the other guy_

_And make him pay (don't ask us why)_

_But in the end their loss is sealed_

_The master's genius revealed_

_Plots too complex to understand_

_Elimination schemed and planned_

_To rid us of a mean disturbance_

_To provide us with deliverance_

_From breaches in security_

_When guys come in and want to see_

_The secrets of our beloved employer_

_And sue him, though he has no lawyer_

_So this is our only defense_

_Against those who mean us offense_

_And now you finally know why_

_The unwitting intruder must die_

_To preserve our peace and harmony_

_And prevent us any felony_

_But we can promise our new friend John _

_That he alone may carry on_

_But an experiment he first must be_

_The tester for a new candy…_

They had strapped him down to a chair, his arms and legs fastened to the heavy seat by metal bands, the curved steel cold against his body. He glared at the four who had brought him; short, little men wearing the same black uniforms, marked with a pair of crossing Ws, and the same dark grins. He wanted to ask why he was here and what was going to happen to him, where Wonka had gone and why he had decided not to kill him immediately. He had caught a bit of the Oompa-loompas' last song as he was being roughly escorted out of the chamber, and understood: something bad was going to be done to him.

The moments passed slowly, and Bryant found himself thinking about the oddest things. _Are my socks clean?_ The thought made him struggle to look over his knees to try to see his feet, the movement making the guards run over to him. He froze when he noticed their approach, but they all looked to the door as it opened, permitting entrance for the grinning form of Wonka. He stepped over to the captive, eyes glowing with anticipation and spite. "Comfy, Mr. Bryant? I should hope so; I like for my employees to be comfortable."

"I'm not your employee," Bryant spat, his eyes defiant. "I would never work for a madman like you."

Wonka's grin straightened. "Well, unfortunately, Mr. Bryant, you have no choice. At least, I don't think you do, or you won't… it all depends if I got the recipe right. I do hope it works this time; it was too much for the last tester I used it on." He brought a syringe into view, the clear cylindrical portion filled with a pinkish, lucent fluid. "This is an experimental serum I've been making, a sugar-based chemical that goes straight to the brain and stays there, affecting the recipient permanently. It is supposedly a mind-altering drug, one that improves submission of a person. In other words, it is a whole mind reprogramming session wrapped into a few cubic centimeters of liquid. Isn't that neat?"

Bryant said nothing, but his eyes held a flicker of fear.

"Now, this will only hurt a little," Wonka said, his tone not unlike the soothing voice of a doctor. But Bryant knew otherwise, and he began to struggle against his bindings as Wonka drew close to him. He was unable to free himself, though, and so was helpless to stop the candymaker as he thrust the needle into Bryant's arm, injecting the full amount of the serum into his bloodstream before retracting the device. Willy stepped back, surveying his work with curiosity. For a moment, Bryant slumped, defeated and exhausted from attempting to fight against his restraints. After a few seconds, he lifted his head, the hatred in his eyes gone. "Mr. Wonka?"

"Yes?"

"What would you like me to do now?"

"Just sit there for a moment while I check something." Willy replied with a pleased smile. He glanced down to the piece of paper in his hand, a printout of the formula he had developed a little while ago. He had called it Subservience Serum, and was designed to create the feeling of trust and wellbeing in the recipient, erasing their minds of doubt or anger toward the creator of the drug. Theoretically, it would make the perfect servant, submissive and obedient, just what Wonka needed. And to find that it actually worked in John Bryant, well… He turned to the guards before him. "Release him from his restraints. Let him have the payment and let him go."

"But sir," one protested, "What about your resolve to not pay it?"

"I made a contract, a deal," Willy replied with a sigh. "I would like, at least on the outside, to be a man of my word."

"But sir…"

Wonka raised a hand. "Enough. Get that man sent out immediately. He works for us now."

"Yes, sir."

Willy watched as the Oompa-loompas left, herding the changed John Bryant out of the chamber, his lean form towering over the little men. He was proud of his workers, but he didn't like having his intellect questioned, especially by his employees. He made a mental note. "The Subservience Serum must be instilled in all of the employees, as soon as possible."


End file.
